The Incursion
by Forge2
Summary: The time has come, they have waited for so long. The new Watchers Council will need all the help it can get. Luckily a young woman called Ace seems to know what’s happening but can she be trusted? And who exactly is Dr. McCrimmon? Doctor Who xover
1. At the Crypt of Barons

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the villains. Buffy characters are the property of Mutant Enemy, and all things Doctor Who belong to the BBC

Chapter 1: At the Crypt of Barons 

It was a strangely calm and pleasant night. A sliver of the moon hung in the sky, and in the distance a church bell rang. Tis the very witching time of night, and Faith was squatting behind a gravestone. She approached the crypt cautiously, creeping ever so slowly. Faith had not always been careful. There was a time in the not so distant past when she would have charged forward. Times had changed, though perhaps not too much. If she truly wished to exercise caution, she would have waited until the backup arrived in the morning, as she had been ordered. But while Faith might have learned a few lessons over the years, she still wasn't big on following orders.

Besides she liked being alone, without an army of teenage slayers breathing down her neck. Having slayer backup sounded great, but it cramped her style. Plus the bathroom lines after patrol were demonic. Faith had enough female companionship in prison to last her several lifetimes. So she had became the roving slayer, with a license to kill…or something. Giles had given her a title that somehow managed to sound so utterly un-cool, that the other watchers had agreed. Yet here she was in the land of tea, crumpets and rain, peering over a gravestone at the crypt. By morning she'd be knee deep in newbie slayers, all asking stupid questions like _"does this stake make me look fat?"_ and reawakening her homicidal tendencies.

Faith sighed. Something big was going on. Two nights ago every single slayer across the globe had awoken from the same dream. Almost immediately the details had faded, but Faith could still feel the cold dread like a knife in her gut. The new Council had gone on high alert, and Willow had worked her mojo and narrowed it down to this little crypt. Faith had seen a lot of crypts, and from the outside there didn't appear to be anything out of the ordinary.

She really wished for a vampire right about now. Reconnaissance was boring and she felt an urge to hit something. No such luck. The minutes ticked slowly by. Still nothing. Perhaps she should go in the crypt, just to have a quick scout around. Maybe that would be more interesting then crouching out here feeling your leg fall asleep. She started to stand, but suddenly she felt a jolt through her slayer senses. Sinking back down, her eyes scanned the dark. There was something out there, something powerful…

Then she saw him. He was 30, maybe 40, Faith couldn't tell. Power was rolling off him in waves of dark magic that made her stomach clench. He strolled through the cemetery as if he didn't have a care in the world. There was an air about him, not arrogant but confident; secure in the knowledge that he wasn't going to meet anything that could hurt him. Faith shivered slightly. Her slayer instincts were screaming. This man was dangerous, but more importantly, he was heading straight for the crypt.

Faith was so focused on the man, that she nearly missed the woman. For a moment Faith was sure she was imagining things, but she was right. There was someone else there—a woman creeping softly in the darkness, her movements swift and controlled. Whoever she was, she had stealth many slayers only dreamed of. It was easier to find her, now that Faith knew she was there. She wondered if the man suspected he was being followed. She didn't think so, the woman was too good. Then again, as he reached the crypt he spun around and peered out at the graveyard. Perhaps he did suspect. His eyes pierced the darkness, and for a moment Faith thought he'd seen her, but at last seemingly satisfied, he entered and the crypt door closed behind him.

Now Faith was in something of a dilemma. She needed to know what was going inside there. What was he up to? The strange woman complicated things. Where did she fit? While Faith contemplated her options, the other woman had broken cover and was approaching the crypt. There was something vaguely cat-like about her. Faith couldn't quite figure it out. The woman's head turned and suddenly she was looking right at Faith. For a moment the woman was still, then she gestured her head towards the crypt. _"Come on,"_ she seemed to be saying. Faith rose and jogged over. There was no telling how much time they had.

Still Faith took a moment to observe the other woman. She was older then Faith but not by much. She held her body deceptively relaxed, but Faith could tell she was ready for action. Her muscles were the hard muscles of real use. Her eyes were cold, revealing nothing. She was a fighter. Faith's slayer instincts whispered to her. Best to be careful of this one. The woman remained impassive throughout, but Faith could tell she had been scrutinized just as closely in return.

"Ace," the woman offered. Her accent was British.

"Faith."

"Alright Faith, we'll play twenty questions later, but first," she glanced up at the crypt. Faith followed her gaze. There were vines crawling up the wall and a small stain-glass window near the roof. Oh hell no! Faith glared.

"Leg up," Ace offered grinning.

Faith felt like Tarzan's sister. She hung from the vines. Shifting her weight slightly, she peered through the narrow window down into the crypt. She was having trouble making out anything. He was on the other side standing over one of the coffins. Straining her eyes she saw the man slash a knife across his palm. Slowly drop-by-drop his blood trickled onto the coffin. Then with a creak and moan the lid of the coffin swung out. The man jumped nimbly out of the way, but Faith could see him smiling.

"What's he doing," Ace whispered from below.

"Not sure," Faith answered. "Keep your voice down." There was something happening. Power rose out of the coffin. Not manifesting as darkness so much as not-light. It flew like a cloud and formed a shell around the man. She could barely make him out amidst the un-light. Slowly it coalesced and conformed to his body, seemingly forcing itself into his very pores. His eyes were scrunched tight, his face the picture of silent pain. Finally the last of the power had forced its way into his flesh and bone. A faint murmur of pain reached Faith's ears. He was filled far beyond the saturation point. With a strangled cry he expelled the excess energy. It sped out from him as a great wave, nearly visible, rippling out in all directions. It struck shattering the window and sending Faith flying. She careened into the ground with a sickening thud, and lay still for a moment. Faith sat up slowly and cursed. Ace was at her side in a moment.

"You ok?"

"Yeah, but next time you play Tarzan," Faith grumbled. Ace smirked.

"Good evening ladies," Faith sprung to her feet. The man was right there, watching them. How had he moved so fast? His eyes twinkled mockingly. He seemed different to Faith. She could still taste the taint of dark magic, but there was something else now, something far stronger. This power was not demonic or magical, but unknown, and utterly alien. Her slayer instincts shivered. "I must admit Ms. Lehane," he continued. "I was not expecting slayer intervention quite so early." Faith tensed waiting for the fight, but his eyes moved to Ace. He tilted his head to study her. "But perhaps Ms. McShane had something to do with it? It is Ms. McShane is it not?" Ace nodded slowly, startled. He chuckled. "They remember the defeat to come, and now so do I. We will not make the same mistakes. Tell me where is the Meddler?"

"No idea," she answered. He studied her closely. Ace met his gaze unflinching. Her eyes, cold and harsh, promised a storm.

"He's trained you well: a regular sorcerer's apprentice, but where you go he is never far behind." Ace said nothing. "If I so desire, I can compel the information from your lips."

Faith didn't know who they were talking about, but she was getting antsy for a fight. She took a step forward. His eyes were on her instantly. "I wouldn't if I were you," he said. Angrily she threw a punch. He caught her fist effortlessly and squeezed. Faith gasped, she could feel her bones shattering. He released her hand and delivered a hard blow. Faith fell to the ground stunned. She glanced up blearily. Ace and the man were locked in a battle of wills. Faith could practically feel the power reaching out for the other woman. Ace suppressed a whimper biting her lip until it bled. Faith could see her shaking with effort and silently wished her luck, before the world went dark.

The man was gone when Faith woke. The first thing she noticed was the pain. Her hand was broken, even with slayer healing that would take a couple days to heal. Her eyes fluttered open slowly. Ace was staring down concerned. She looked paler, weaker. There were lines of exhaustion in her face that hadn't been there before.

"What happened," Faith asked. Her voice was weaker than she would have liked.

"You fought Mr. Beech and he won."

"Faith glared. "I meant…"

"I know," Ace paused. "He tried to get the answers he sought from my mind,"

"And…?"

"He failed," She shrugged nonchalantly, but Faith could tell it had been a lot harder then that. "You all right," Ace asked.

Ignoring the offered hand, Faith rose unaided. "Five by five," she said.

"Five by five what," Ace wondered. Faith didn't answer.

They left the graveyard together, leaving the crypt until daylight hours. Tomorrow Faith would have an army, and a witch. But deep in the crypt, within the Baron's coffin, the gestation was almost complete. A slayer had come at last. The time of waiting was nearly ended.


	2. The Professor of Chronology

Chapter Two: The Professor of Chronology 

Giles sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. It had been a long week, a very long week. Faith should have reached the crypt by now. Hopefully she had been sensible and waited for Willow, but somehow Giles doubted it. He checked his watch. It was late. Most of the watchers had long since gone to bed. A few of the more dedicated ones were still hard at work in their rooms, but for the most part it was quiet now. Giles supposed he should be glad of the quiet and enjoy it while it lasted. With most of the Slayer force mobilized, headquarters was a little bare. Only a handful of slayers remained.

Giles suppressed a shiver. For all the advantages the new headquarters possessed, central heating wasn't one of them. The old castle had been painstakingly restored, with most modern amenities, but he doubted that any amount of tinkering would improve the heating situation. He shivered again. Maybe a spell…no Willow had already done enough magic here, any more and the castle would light up like a bloody Christmas tree. The castle, hidden behind a glamour, appeared to most observers to be just another ruin. Occasionally they had to chase off the odd tourist.

A young woman ran past him. "Hey Giles," she called over her shoulder, sounding entirely too hyper.

Some one had let the slayers have mochas. Giles could feel a headache coming on. He paused and pushing open the great oak doors, entered the Library, though calling it such, hardly did it justice. This was a cathedral, a shrine to books, and there were many books. From floor to high vaulted ceiling. Shelves upon shelves of crafted bindings and pages filled with the sum of watcher knowledge. Giles stopped for a moment. It smelled like a library, it felt like a library in a way that the technological monstrosity never could. The slayers had insisted on their own library with access to the digital catalogue, all ones and zeroes and sterile blinking screens. Giles shivered again, but not from the cold.

He wasn't alone. In a far corner a diminutive figure sat pouring over massive tomes. It was their mysterious visitor, Dr. Robert McCrimmon, though Giles noticed that most people simply called him Doctor. He'd been here only a few short weeks, but in that time he'd made an impression. Most of the slayers seemed to like him, and some of the younger watchers-in-training practically worshipped him. Indeed, it was telling that in a castle filled with numerous doctorates, if you referred to 'the Doctor' people immediately knew who you were talking about.

Dressed in his dark brown jacket and russet waistcoat he almost looked like a watcher, Giles decided. The checked trousers and golfing shoes ruined the effect, as did his seemingly ever-present umbrella, a not unwise precaution here in England. Giles smiled. Strangely he'd missed rain, when he'd been in California. Still the enigmatic Scotsman had proved something of a puzzle. His references had been outstanding, his request clear and to the point. He wanted to use the Watcher's library to further his own research. Quite how he'd learned of them, Giles still wasn't sure. Still Sir Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart had vouched for him, and Giles trusted the old man's judgment.

"Burning the midnight oil, Doctor McCrimmon " Giles said.

"Just Doctor," he said glancing up. With a casual wave of the hand he urged Giles to sit. Giles sank gratefully into the upholstery, and glanced at the Doctor's notes. They were written in some form of cuneiform, but he didn't recognize it.

The Doctor followed Giles' gaze. "Old High Gallifreyan," he said answering the unspoken question.

"Never heard of it," Giles frowned.

"No," The Doctor smiled, as if at a private joke. "I must congratulate you, Mr. Giles," he continued.

"Just call me Giles, I've become accustomed to it." Giles wondered if the other man recognized the gesture.

The Doctor smiled softly and nodded. "Your library is truly impressive. I could spend a lifetime or two and barely scratch the surface."

"Yes, it took quite some doing to reassemble. Unfortunately some works were irrevocably destroyed."

"An unfortunate human predilection, the Library of St. John the Beheaded has an extensive section on bibliographic destruction, from the sacking of Alexandria, to a first hand account of the Bonfire of the Vanities, interesting but depressing."

"Did you say the Library of St. John the Beheaded? You've been to the Library?"

"I started my research there. It is one of the few collections on this earth that could rival your own."

"Good lord, I had no idea you were quite so well connected. I've known many watchers who would have given anything to visit St. John's."

The Doctor shrugged. "If you knew how well connected I was, I wouldn't be that well connected. In any case St. John's was surprisingly unhelpful. I'm in search of an exceedingly rare manuscript."

"Perhaps I could help."

"No, no you're a busy man, saving the world etc…I'm just a wandering professor."

"Perhaps, but it would be good to do some old fashioned research. These days I mostly chair meetings, and try to be patient while explaining why ice cream can't be on the bloody budget."

The Doctor smiled sympathetically. "I'm hoping to track down the Sa'ran Codex."

"I'm afraid I've never heard of it."

"Few have," the Doctor said, but for a moment Giles thought he saw relief in the other man's eyes. Then the moment passed.

"I admit Doctor that I'm curious why a professor of chronology would be interested in demonology."

"I commit the cardinal sin—I dabble."

"Still, the connection is rather tenuous, although I admit I'm not quite sure what the Chair of Chronology actually entails. Your predecessor was never very clear on that point."

"You met him?"

"Briefly, my father knew him as a child. He was…an interesting character."

"Yes," the Doctor smiled sadly his mind elsewhere.

"Well," Giles rose to his feet. "I'll let you get on with it. I hope you find what you're looking for."

"Thank you, so do I. After you the only collection extensive enough is the Wolfram & Hart Archives, and they don't exactly represent the better angels of our nature." The Doctor turned back to his work.

Giles flinched slightly. Angel's seeming defection had taken them all by surprise, and coupled with Spike's recent death had driven Buffy into semiretirement. Giles felt his anger begin to grow. It seemed so out of character for Angel, Angelus too, for that matter. And try as he might he couldn't imagine Wesley turning dark. The man he had known had been a stuffy and arrogant, but never evil, although according to Willow he had taken to chaining up slave girls in his closet which…no. Giles quenched that line of thought.

Something else was bothering him, though. As he headed back for his office, he wondered about the Doctor. Had the Scot's voice been a little too casual, his face a little too innocent when he had mentioned angels? Giles would have dismissed it as mere paranoia, except this wasn't the first time this had happened. It wasn't the first time their visitor had made a seemingly innocent remark that touched a nerve. Just how much did this Doctor know? Giles frowned as he reached his office. Perhaps he would give Alistair another call in the morning. He was probably jumping at shadows; the man was the Regius Professor of Chronology, how dangerous could he be? Sill it never hurt to be too careful.

The telephone rang, shrilly interrupting his thoughts. "Yes," he said.

"Yo, G," came the voice on the other end.

Giles rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Faith," he said evenly. What ever had happened, Giles knew it couldn't be good.

The Doctor sat alone in the library. The books abandoned about him. He fiddled with a small piece of machinery. The Gallifreyan com-link was twitchy. He banged it defiantly against the table and it sputtered back to life. He held it up to his ear. It resembled a cell phone closely enough to fool any one watching.

"Can you hear me now," he asked.

"Loud and clear Professor," came the response

"Well?"

"Well…what," there was a hint of teasing in her voice.

"Ace," he practically growled.

"Keep your shirt on Professor," she said. Then suddenly professional, her voice was serious. "We were right about Beech. He just became the vessel. That means they're about done cooking."

"Mmmm..."

"And more importantly he knew me, or they knew me."

"Ah," the Doctor said. "Not unexpected, given the lack of temporal cohesion."

"Not unexpected? Well thanks for telling me. You know one day we're going to have a nice long talk about sharing information."

"Of course, right after we talk about safety standards?"

" Oi, low blow Professor," she whined but the Doctor could hear her smile. "I met Faith tonight."

"New friend?"

"Vampire slayer," Ace answered. "Beech beat her pretty badly."

"And you?"

"I'm fine."

"Ace…" Silence for a long moment. The Doctor leaned back and waited. Still silence. She was stubborn, but patience had never been one of her virtues.

"Fine, my head feels like it's going to implode, but he didn't get anything. Whatever you did to my head worked. He couldn't get in. Still hurt though."

"I'm sorry Ace."

"Yea, listen tomorrow I'm going to be over run. Witches and Watchers and Slayers, oh my! They're all going to be asking some interesting questions."

"I imagine they would."

"No instructions Professor?"

"What do I always tell you to do in situations like this?"

"Use my native intelligence guided by experience," she said. The words had been drilled into her; she had certainly heard them enough.

"Why don't you try that then," the Doctor suggested brightly.

"Gee, thanks Professor."

"You're welcome," he ignored her sarcasm. "Good night Ace."

"Night Professor, don't let the Daleks bite."

The Doctor sat in silence, staring down at his notes. His mind was racing. Things were going to get very nasty before they got better. He hoped his faith in the watcher wasn't misplaced.

Giles sighed, as he hung up the phone. He needed to know what had happened in that crypt. What was in the coffin? Who was this Mr. Beech? Beating Faith was no easy task, but she'd been rattled. Images of the First came into his mind unbidden, and for a moment he considered. But no, this wasn't the First. Faith knew what Caleb's power had felt like and this was something other. Then of course there was Faith's mystery woman—Ms. McShane, or Ace, as she seemed to prefer. She obviously knew a great deal about what was happening, but would she cooperate? More importantly, who's side was she on? There was a span of time when Faith had been unconscious, what had happened then? Had Beech and this Ace person fought? Hard to believe she could survive when a Slayer couldn't. Perhaps it was all an elaborate ruse, to get Ace on the inside. Giles yawned. It was late and he wasn't going to get any answers tonight, but where had he heard the name McShane before?


	3. The Mysterious Dorothy McShane

Chapter Three: The Mysterious Dorothy McShane

Giles frowned in frustration. He was sure he knew the name McShane from somewhere. The problem was he no idea where to start. He stared blankly at the books piled around him. So that wasn't strictly accurate. He was fairly sure McShane had a Watcher connection, but there were hundreds of Watcher's diaries, and centuries of accounts and reports. The information he sought could easily have been destroyed in the explosion. He really wished he had more to go on. Glancing around the library he noted that Doctor McCrimmon was exactly where he'd left him the night before. Giles narrowed his eyes. Instinct told him that the good Doctor warranted a closer inspection, but now wasn't the time for that. He took a sip of tea and got to work.

The hours ticked slowly by. No one wanted to disturb Giles in research mode. Page by page he dove into centuries of Slayer lore, but there was nothing, not a trace. He was just about to give up, when he found it. The further back the more numerous the references became. "Creatures from beyond the stars…metal men…quellor demons." Sometimes the mention was brief, a hazy impression of a woman watching in the shadows, an unexplained explosion at the right moment. Sometimes she was there fighting side by side with the Slayer before vanishing again. All in all there were about six confirmed meetings and three or four others that seemed to fit her modus operandi. Now at least he had a full name—Dorothy "Ace" McShane, and he definitely knew that name. In a small corner of the old Council library there had been a small eclectic collection of obscure texts donated by one Dorothée McShane. Further study of Council finances indicated that Dorothée, a sometime paramour of Count Sorin, had made several generous contributions over a period of ten or so years. Giles polished his glasses. So that's where he knew the name, but it couldn't possibly be the same woman. He snorted. With their luck, it couldn't not be. He stood and headed for his office, lost in thought. If he'd been paying attention, he would have noticed McCrimmon's eyes following his progress with an unreadable expression.

Willow sat hunched over her laptop. She'd had no luck finding Mr. Beech. There wasn't a single mention. It was as if he'd simply appeared from one day to the next. So she'd turned her attention to the other mysterious stranger. Ace McShane was not a lot to go on, but she'd been doing this kind of research for over a decade now. She was dimly aware of Kennedy's hands running through her hair, of Faith pacing up and down the hotel room like a caged animal. "Oh! Oh!" Willow exclaimed excitedly. "A missing person's report from Perivale for a Dorothy McShane, probably going by Ace." She turned the computer around so Faith could take a look. "This her?" Faith peered at the frowning teenager shown in a baggy jacket covered in badges.

"Yeah," Faith said. "That's her. She's older now though, dresses better too." Willow nodded and continued reading.

"Born in Perivale 1975. Raised by a single mother blah, blah…expelled for blowing up the art room." Willow frowned.

"She blew up the art room?" Faith smiled. "Cool!"

"Cool? No, no that is so not cool. She destroyed the class project and…and…"

"Uh Willow," Kennedy said. "Didn't you blow up your entire High School?"

"No…well yes but that's so not the point. There was a giant demon snake and…" She sighed and pouted. Turning back to the screen she kept muttering softly to herself. "Disappeared in '87," she continued. "Returned briefly a few years later in the wake of several disappearances before vanishing again. Not seen again until 1997 in connection with a UNIT operation."

"UNIT," Kennedy said. "isn't that…"

"Gramp's lot," Faith grinned.

"So where's she been all this time," Kennedy asked. "Cause we're talking about a whole decade off the radar."

"Don't know," Faith said. "but the girl's got madd skillz. She was in full stealth mode and I barely knew she was there. Not a lot of folks can manage that."

"Uh oh!" Willow bit her lip.

"What?"

"Giles just sent me this." Faith and Kennedy peered over her shoulder at a portrait of a young woman who looked identical to the teenage Dorothy McShane. "It was painted almost 300 years ago," Willow said. "I think it's time we met your new friend." Faith cursed. Nothing was ever simple.

Mr. Beech coughed softly. Attacking the girl's mind had been harder than anticipated. The Meddler's protections were too potent, but it was only a matter of time. The shadows would not hide the enemy forever. Already his machinations were becoming apparent. The Slayers had been awakened to danger far sooner than Beech had planned, but the Meddler had miscalculated. This wasn't a set back. It was an opportunity, and Beech had not come so far, and risen so high by ignoring opportunities. His former employers had been impressed with his ingenuity and independent spirit, until he'd used it to betray them. Now the Slayers were gathering their forces and marching on the Crypt. It couldn't have worked better if he'd set the trap himself, and that gave him pause. For the Meddler was infamous for his traps and snares. Who knows what he could do with the Crypt in his possession, stop the incursion before it truly began. No, Beech could not allow that. Secure the Crypt at all cost, and if an opportunity presented itself then act accordingly. To do that he would need more manpower. Beech sighed. The portal would expend a great deal of his borrowed power, but it was necessary. It was their will, and their will be done.

Ace waited. The pub was strangely crowded. A bunch of teenage girls were over by the pool tables giggling to themselves. She sipped her drink. They hadn't even asked for ID. Damn, she was getting old. Though age was relative, and if she was honest with herself, she hadn't felt young since Fenric all those long years ago. Above the bar hung a battered TV playing an old episode of Professor X. Ace allowed herself a small smile. As a kid, she used to love it, though the rubber monsters had been a bit naff. That was before she'd started doing it for real. A shadow fell across her face. She leaned back into the booth and smiled up at the newcomers. "I've been expecting you," Ace said with a companionable nod. Faith she recognized, and the red head was probably Willow. She wasn't quite sure who the third one was, but she had a general idea. "Please sit down," Ace waved. "have a pint." Sure enough there were three other glasses, just waiting to be claimed. Willow frowned softly.

"We have a few questions, Dorothy…"

"Ace."

"Sorry?"

"My friends call me Ace."

"What do your enemies call you," the unknown brunette demanded.

"Ace. It's a multipurpose name. Please, just because we're going to have the Spanish Inquisition doesn't mean we can't do it civilized…with beer."

"I like your idea of civilized," Faith said.

"Thought you might." Ace raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'll even keep my hands where you can see them, besides you've already got half a dozen Slayers as backup." She pointed at the girls by the pool tables, who were no longer giggling. Willow sat gingerly and didn't touch her glass. Faith plopped into the booth, and took a long drink. Shrugging unapologetically at Willow's glare. A drink was a drink.

"So…Ace," Willow began. "When I was trying to find you, I couldn't help notice some irregularities."

"Irregularities?" Ace raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Like an 18th century painting of you," Kennedy said.

" Yes," Ace smiled. "I remember that. Had to sit still for days…absolute torture." She shivered.

"I don't suppose you'd tell us how you had your portrait painted before you were even born?"

"It's complicated." Ace shrugged.

"Sure it is," Kennedy muttered. "I'm sure it was just a coincidence that you were there last night. You do have a habit of being in the right place at the right time."

"I do?" Ace frowned.

"You're mentioned in some of the Watcher's Diaries," Willow said.

"Am I? Why? Wait no don't tell me. There are more pressing problems than my checkered past."

"Hey," Willow said pointing an accusing finger. "You blew up the art room!" Ace blinked in surprise.

"Unexplained paintings, references in dusty old books, and the art room is what gets you excited?"

"That's our Red," Faith said.

"Resolve face." Willow said.

Ace raised her eyebrows. "It was just a small explosion. They couldn't understand how it was a creative act--modern art."

"Creative act?" Willow sputtered indignantly. "That's vandalism."

"You say tomato, I say…"

"Chill Willow," Faith said. "So, what's our more pressing problem," Faith asked.

"Not ours, yours…and theirs." Ace nodded at the ones playing pool.

"The girl's"

"The Slayers," Ace corrected. "This isn't about you Willow any more than it's about me." Willow started slightly at the use of her name. If Ace noticed, she didn't comment. "They need the Slayers to exist."

"They," Faith asked.

"Beech isn't the enemy. He's just a lackey, not even a General."

"And who are you?"

"The opposition," Ace drained her glass.

"Who's opposition," Kennedy demanded.

Ace leaned forward and matched Kennedy's stare. "Not yours," Ace smirked but something predatory danced in her eyes.

"Then why don't you answer our questions," Willow asked.

"It's a question of trust."

"You don't trust us? We're Slayers."

"And I'd trust every one of you with my life." Ace stood. "but not my secrets, not yet. Well this has been fun." She smiled. "Drinks are on me." She turned to leave.

"We're not done," Willow said.

"No we're not, but it's almost dark and you have things to do, Crypts to see. Don't worry. We'll meet again before it's all over."

Faith rose to follow. "Yo Ace," she called. Ace stopped at the door. "I just wanted to say…" Faith trailed off, but Ace seemed to understand.

"See you around. Probably sooner than you think. Oh and Faith," Ace called over her shoulder. "Be careful." The door swung shut behind her, and she was gone. Faith couldn't help the grin that threatened to break through. Whoever Ace was, she was her kind of girl. On the TV above the bar the Professor X theme began to play.


	4. Déjà vu

Chapter Four: Déjà vu

The vampires shifted slightly, shooting nervous glances at each other. They weren't particularly smart by any stretch of the imagination, but they recognized power. They could smell it on the air. Hear it sing as it flowed through the man's veins. Power, glorious, wicked, poisoned power. Like nothing they'd ever sensed. Jeremiah was the oldest, almost a century now. As a fledgling he'd survived an encounter with a Slayer. When the others had attacked the seemingly weak little girl, he'd felt something indescribable a nameless fear and so he'd run. Run so hard, so fast. He hadn't stopped until the sun rose. The others had laughed and laughed, but they were dust now and he was not. Jeremiah felt that same instinct now. Flee! Escape! Hide! But this time he couldn't. The song, the call of blood, sweet delicious blood held him in place.

Magic emanated for the warlock in thick invisible clouds. It brushed against Jeremiah's skin causing his stomach to clench in fear, and in hunger. It seeped into the concrete and filled the air with its promise. The whole world seemed to come alive. The air was crisper. The colors were more vibrant. One of the fledglings collapsed to the ground, quivering. "Leave him," said Jeremiah. "We have a job to do." But as he glanced around he saw that most of the others were faring hardly any better. The sudden onslaught of hyper-reality overwhelmed them. He could hear the water rushing loudly through the pipes in the ceiling. Hear the echoing footsteps of the ants as they marched across the floor. The air seemed heavy as if it wanted to drag him down to the waiting floor. Jeremiah shook his head, and straightened his shoulders. He took a deep unnecessary breath, felt the air explode into his lungs. Every sinew, every bone, every muscle in his body called for attention. A screaming jumbled multitude of information swarmed through his head making it hard to think, hard to move. But one fact was clear. Every molecule floating in the air, every dead cell in his body, every square inch of ground, every sound was waiting. The anticipation was almost as overwhelming as the sensations. Jeremiah fell to his knees. Gasping he could feel the particles of his body being torn apart, as the others turned to dust around him.

Mr. Beech did not stir as his bodyguards fell around him. He did not notice the ants and the flies come to a halt. The pigeons ceasing to peck at the breadcrumbs. All was quiet, all was still and in the center stood Mr. Beech his eyes shut tightly, his mind far away wading in the river of time. Time was not an actual river, of course, but his teacher had urged him to visualize the journey. This was the easy part. Allowing the stream to pull him along to his destination. The return journey would be another matter entirely. Swimming against the current bringing back those who did not belong. Time would protest. Mother Earth would rage. His lips twitched into a half smile. The Powers within him uncurled in giddy anticipation of the contest. Thy will be done.

Giles looked out upon his dominion, as Buffy insisted on calling it. She had also tried calling him the king of the castle, but he had to draw the line somewhere. After all, the new Council was not the old one. Travers had come to see himself in just such a light, and Giles refused to fall into that trap, even in jest. The main hall was filled. Slayers and Watchers-in-training mingled together. The dull roar of their voices comforted Giles. Glancing around the staff table it was easy to discern who had been a supporter in the Old Council. Disapproval burned in their eyes no matter how much they tried to hide it. Watching and Slaying were sacred duties, and this infernal noise and giggles was not at all appropriate. Giles took a sip of wine. He disagreed, of course. The friendships and bounds of laughter would keep many of the students before him alive. Even if it was only just a little longer, than it was worth it.

A little ways down the staff table, Matthew Abberton was engrossed in conversation with Doctor McCrimmon. Abberton was one of the few from the Old Council that Giles respected. He'd had a Slayer of his own once, who had lasted a respectable two and a half years. Giles wondered if he'd noticed anything amiss with he good Doctor. It would be good to have a second opinion. After all, all he had was a few vague suspicions, which could easily be mere paranoia. Though Giles couldn't escape the strange feeling that the man was being deliberately suspicious. He leaned forward straining to hear their conversation.

"Well," the Doctor was saying. "The Chair was established in 1793 by King George III. Apparently he had several pressing questions that needed to be answered."

"Questions?" Abberton asked curiously. The Chair of Chronology was one of the most obscure.

"Yes the poor man was simply terrified that time might start flowing backwards and he might have to re-experience all the bad moments of his life." Abberton raised his eyebrows. "Yes," the Doctor agreed. "It does seem silly, but for a man who had just overcome a bout of madness, it was not an entirely unjustified fear."

"No I suppose not." Abberton said. "I wonder if there's some sort of spell to…"

"There isn't," the Doctor stated firmly. Giles frowned. That answer had been a little too confident. Did this mean the Doctor had looked? "In any case, good King George asked my illustrious predecessor to research if there was a reason one thing happened after another, and if there was any way of stopping it. Very astute questions, and after some careful consideration he answered in order: yes, no, and maybe."

"That's three answers," Abberton pointed out. The Doctor glanced up with a wry grin. But whatever he was about to say was interrupted as his glass began to shake. Giles saw the liquid begin to ripple. He glanced down at his own bubbling glass. Throughout the hall he could see people gazing about in slight alarm. The Doctor stood quickly and backed away from the table. He glared down at the vibrating glass, as if it was a personal insult. Then swaying slightly he collapsed.

Willow approached the crypt cautiously, flanked by Faith and Kennedy. The other Slayers fanned out around them. She could see Vi and Shannon keeping them in formation. Hard to believe they were veterans now with a few apocalypses of their own under their belt. Willow glanced up at the sinking sun. The first tendrils of night were already reaching across the sky. Tracking down McShane had taken longer than expected, and she'd proved to be just as elusive in person. She hadn't given an inch even when confronted by a bar full of Slayers. That impressed Willow and worried her. This Ace might not be the enemy, and Willow was by no means sure of that yet, but the enemy of my enemy wasn't always my friend. Willow sighed softly. She missed the simplicity of the early days. See demon. See Buffy slay demon. Go to the Bronze. There was something oddly comforting about that, but then the world became so complicated.

A shudder went through her. The power in the crypt was stirring. She could feel it twisting and writhing. A great shapeless mass lurking just beyond sight, in the gap between what was and what would be. Willow had never felt anything like it. She knew the chalky taste of Evil, had felt the pure bliss of the Light. They were earthy, grounded, and alike even in their opposition. Everything is connected down to the very roots. But the power in the crypt was different, vague, unconnected, of a great nameless Other. Why couldn't she feel its roots? It burned in her mind without heat. Every step took her closer to the abomination. She saw now the tethers the power had made. Bound to rotted flesh and bone, until it could be whole. She saw too the tendrils of not-light reaching out to caress the Slayers. Light touches that promised more, but the strongest tendril led not to a Slayer but off into the distance disappearing into the twilight. From the crypt the alien power flew down that link in greater and greater amounts. All their will was bent on it. Willow frowned and followed the current with her mind's eye. She didn't notice the others stopping or Kennedy desperately trying to get her attention. All that mattered was following the trail of magic, to find out what they were doing.

There. There she could feel it. A man of the earth yet apart from it. The power flowed through him, lending its will to his, its purpose. Together they tore a hole where no hole should be. Not a portal or a gateway, not a bridge or a doorway, but a savage clumsy rupture. Beyond was an earth of metal. The green stifled and it's ancient cry unheeded. A world that was yet to be, and beneath, wild and primordial greater than a hundred thousand Earths flowed something other. _The Vortex_. The name came to Willow unbidden, and invited her to behold its infinity. All that ever was or ever could be. She reached out a metaphorical hand. Perhaps just a little peek. But then the Earth screamed in rage and pain, and Willow lent her voice to the cry and then her world went dark.

From his perch on the staff table, Giles looked out upon his dominion. Watchers, Slayers and Witches in training were mingled together throughout the hall. Their laughter and ease with each other filled Giles with a new hope. It might save their lives someday, no matter what men like Roger Wyndam-Pryce believed. Giles sipped his wine, trying to take his mind off the developing situation at the crypt. There'd been no word from Willow since the unproductive meeting with Ace. So someone was coming after the Slayers. Giles had presumed as much, but having it confirmed was another matter. There were too many mysteries, too many questions that needed answers and Ace had proved remarkably evasive. Speaking of mysteries, Giles glanced down he table where William Abberton and Doctor McCrimmon were engaged in a lively conversation. This Doctor bothered Giles, and he couldn't shake the feeling that it was deliberate. Doctor McCrimmon struck Giles as the sort of man who never did anything by accident. There was something cold and calculating in his eyes, even when he was joking or playing his bloody spoons. Giles had been a Watcher almost all his life, and knew the type. He leaned forward to hear their conversation.

"The poor man was simply terrified that time might start flowing backwards," the Doctor was saying. "Then he might have to experience the bad moments of his life all over again." Abberton raised his eyebrows. "Yes," the Doctor agreed. "It does seem silly, but for a man who had just overcome a bout of madness, it was not an entirely unjustified fear."

"I suppose not and considering what we face on a daily basis." Abberton frowned softly. "I wonder if there's a spell or ritual…"

"There isn't, "the Doctor said. Then he grimaced. "Well not exactly." Giles felt the faint stirrings of alarm. The Doctor seemed entirely too sure of himself for comfort. "In any case, good King George asked my illustrious predecessor to research if there was a reason one thing happened after another, and if there was any way of stopping it. Very astute questions, and after some careful consideration he answered in order: yes, no, and maybe."

"That was three answers," Abberton pointed out.

"Was it?" The Doctor put a hand to his forehead.

"But you only gave two questions." Abberton tilted his head inquisitively. The Doctor smiled wryly and raised his glass in salute. Then he paled and fell back in his seat. The glass slipped from his fingers and crashed to the ground. "Doctor! Are you alright?" Abberton asked. The Doctor let out a deep breath.

"I'll be fine," he said. "Just give me a moment." Abberton met Giles' gaze questioningly. Giles shrugged, but he could feel the wrongness, the muffled scream of the Earth, and a curious sense of déjà vu. Some of the witches who were more connected with the Earth had stopped eating as well. Glancing uncertainly at each other, but no one else had reacted like the Doctor. Giles watched the little man excuse himself with a thoughtful expression. Something was very wrong here.

Willow stopped at the threshold. The Power was so potent that it struck her like physical blow. She tittered slightly but Kennedy reached out to steady her.

"You alright Will?" She asked concern shining in her eyes.

"Peachy," Willow said through gritted teeth. "It's strong." She doubled over and spilled her lunch.

"Red," even Faith seemed worried.

"It's alien. Completely different to anything I've ever dreamed of." Willow whispered. "And it's touching you, all of you. Ace was right."

"What do you mean?" Faith glanced worryingly inside the crypt.

"I can see faint tendrils of its power, thousands of them in all directions and I think they all lead to a Slayer."

"Are you sure you're ok? Maybe you should stay outside."

"No!" Willow rose unsteadily to her feet. "I have to go in. We need to know what's happening."

"But…" Kennedy trailed off. Willows features had hardened into pure determination. There was no winning this argument. Especially since they really did need to know. Kennedy shivered slightly. She could hear a whisper in the back of her mind: a hundred thousand voices murmuring wordlessly growing stronger and stronger the closer they got to the crypt. Whatever was in the crypt was affecting her, calling her. She shook her head. Bring it on! Then they'll see what a Slayer really is. And so supporting Willow she entered the crypt defiantly with Faith half a step behind. In the back of her mind the voices seemed to laugh soundlessly, joyously.

Mr. Beech smiled. His vampire bodyguards had been unable to withstand the influx of power. He could see the piles of dust. They hadn't been necessary after all, but it never hurt to be too careful. While he performed the ritual he had been extremely vulnerable, the perfect time for the Meddler and perhaps even the Slayers to attack. But no attack had come. Before him in perfect formation stood 520 of his Bions. Bio-engineered soldiers manufactured to military perfection by his techniques, augmented with magic. Under the Treaty of Santine Bions were strictly forbidden, but the treaty wouldn't be written for a few centuries yet. Beech smirked in anticipation. The Slayers had an army, but now, so did he.


	5. Nightfall

Chapter Five: Nightfall

Chapter Five: Nightfall

Willow shivered. It was strong in here, the power. Ancient and unearthly, it battered against her skin. She stumbled slightly, as her knees gave way.

"Maybe you should wait outside," Kennedy said as she caught her easily.

"No." Willow shook her head. "There's no time. I have to know." Kennedy frowned. Willow was more stubborn than the rest of them put together. There was n changing her mind, but Kennedy knew if their roles were reversed she'd be no less adamant. Kennedy peered around. She'd been in more crypts than she could count and at first glance this one seemed no different. Nothing whatsoever to distinguish it, and yet…Kennedy swallowed. The room was spinning around her. Barely noticeable at first, but growing faster and faster. She could feel something burrow beneath her skin, crawling through her veins, and in the distance wordless and soundless came a whisper, a siren call. Kennedy glanced at Vi's dazed expression. There was something terribly wrong here, something that called to Slayers. Kennedy blinked, and for a moment the feeling passed, but only for a moment.

"You alright?" Willow asked

"Three by Five," Faith answered.

"You feel it too?" Kennedy asked.

"Like it wants to crawl inside and never leave."

"Interesting." Willow frowned. "Seems Ace was telling the truth."

"That's not what you feel?"

"No. I just sense sheer power. It's not paying any attention to me, whatever it is."

"Lucky you," Kennedy said. "I think Vi is getting the worst of it." They all turned. The red haired Slayer was leaning against the wall, as if the marble was all that kept her standing. She looked the way the rest of them felt.

"Take her outside," Willow ordered. "We can't afford to let it get to her, or any of you."

"What about you?" Kennedy asked.

"I think of all of us, I'm the safest." Willowed forced herself to smile reassuringly, but Kennedy wasn't fooled. She and Shannon practically carried Vi outside. Hopefully the open air would clear their heads, but Willow wasn't hopeful. She glanced around. This was a family crypt, housing generations of Barons. She counted them. There were seven alcoves, but one of them did not just contain a body. Why here? Why now? None of this made any sense. It was a puzzle and most of the pieces were missing. In a corner Caridad sank to her knees. This place was not safe for Slayers.

Giles strained to hear. The door was slightly ajar, but he dared not get any closer for fear of being seen. He'd followed Doctor McCrimmon from the dinning hall. There was more to this Doctor than met the eye. Giles was sure of it. Whatever had happened at dinner, had clearly affected him more than anyone else. That meant he was very sensitive, or very powerful. Either way, the Doctor had managed to hide his talents in a castle full of the mystically inclined, and that did not bode well. Muffled mutterings came from the other side of the door and interrupted Giles' thoughts.

"Come on you piece of junk," the Doctor said. There was the sound of metal meeting wood, followed by an almost indignant beep. "Can you hear me?" The Doctor asked. Giles started.

"Loud and clear Professor," a woman's voice responded, partially distorted by static. Giles relaxed. He hadn't been discovered.

"Don't suppose you felt anything about ten minutes ago?"

"Well I had a wicked headache, but I hoped it might just be the plane. Guess not, huh?"

"No," the Doctor said. "Nothing so mundane."

"Time distortion," the woman said. It was a statement.

"Very crude," the Doctor confirmed. "Very nasty."

"What's it mean?" She sounded concerned.

"It means that our _friends _have made a move."

"Any idea what?"

"Not yet, but time will tell. It always does."

"Instructions?" The woman requested.

"Unchanged. You know what to do. Oh and Ace…"

"Yeah?"

"Watch your back," the Doctor said darkly.

"You too Professor."

Giles jumped out of sight, as the Doctor exited, and watched the little man as he disappeared down the corridor. He'd been right. Pieces of the puzzle were starting to emerge. Now at least he knew who the mysterious Ms. McShane was working for, and for some reason the knowledge wasn't very comforting. Not very comforting at all.

Willow bit her lip in thought. The stones of the mausoleum had a long memory. It was tempting to just reach out with her magic and probe their secrets, but she dared not. Thus far the Power had paid her no heed, and Willow had no intention of drawing its attention until she was ready. She had a feeling the coming battle would take all the strength the fledgling Council could muster. The enemy did not seem to care about witches and Watchers, only Slayers, and that was potentially devastating, not only for the Council, but the whole world. Despite the attention Beech had paid Faith, however, he'd apparently been more interested in McShane, and Willow had followed suit. There was some sort of contest enfolding beneath the surface, just beyond her understanding. Willow sighed. She needed time. Time to unearth the players, and figure out their game, but events were moving too quickly. Caridad could barely stand, and Faith didn't look much better.

"Will!" Kennedy's shout came from outside. "Willow!"

"Coming." Faith met Willow's concerned eyes and nodded. They both had a bad feeling about this. The other Slayers followed in their wake, as they ran for the door. None of them noticed the swirls and patterns etched faintly into the marble, almost like clockwork. Time was running out…

There were hundreds of them marching through the graveyard. Willow instantly felt the wrongness within. They were not connected to the earth. Though flesh and blood they were as unnatural as any manmade machine, and they were coming closer in perfect military precision. In the starlight, their faces were hard too make out, but seemed sunken and crude, as if only half finished. Willow reached out with her magic, as the Coven had taught her, and touched their auras. Gasping she recoiled in shock.

"I-I don't understand," she said. "I'm only sensing 26 auras."

"But there's at least half a thousand of them," Kennedy said.

"They're sharing souls," Willow said wonderingly.

"Very good, very good indeed." The soldiers parted and a dark haired man emerged. "You must be Ms. Rosenberg."

"Beech," Faith said through gritted teeth.

"Ah Faith." Beech smiled. "How's your head?" Faith snarled. She would have charged him, if Willow hadn't stopped her.

"What do you want?" Willow asked.

"I'd settle for an unlimited supply of rice pudding." Beech shrugged.

"What are they?" Willow was in no mood for levity.

"Do you like them? Made them myself. Well that's a slight exaggeration. I designed them any way."

"What have you done to them?"

"Done? I've given them life. Manufactured soldiers, bio-engineered for increased strength, speed, and agility. Perhaps not quite as strong as a Slayer, but I have got an awful lot of them and there's only twenty of you."

"Is that a threat?" Willow asked dangerously. Her eyes began to blacken.

"Certainly not. It was an offer. You and your associates are free to go." Beech smiled. "I have no desire to fight you, but if you remain, you will pay the price for your stubbornness. That, incidentally, was a threat."

"We decline," Willow said. Around her the Slayers steadied themselves. This close to the Crypt they felt weak.

"I was hoping you'd say that." Beech smiled almost boyishly. The Bions surged forward. From their sleeves shards of metal unfolded into swords. The greatest line of mystical warriors met the pinnacle of military science in a clash of metal. The Bions were fast, but not as fast. They were strong, but not as strong. In other circumstances, it would have been nothing more than a fairly challenging practice session, but there were so many of them.

Vi blocked a strike and sent the Bion sprawling with a well-aimed kick. It was a small victory, and she was starting to feel faint. She glanced around. The other Slayers didn't look much better, and Willow seemed to be locked in a mystical staring contest with Beech. The adrenaline coursing through her system had given her a momentary gift of strength, but it was already fading. She sidestepped a vicious kick, but the Bion adjusted and caught her in the jaw. She stumbled back. The Bion pressed his advantage driving her to her knees. A savage blow sent her tumbling to the ground. She let out a muffled moan as her body screamed in protest. She struggled to rise, but her body refused to cooperate. Her stake slipped from her limp hands into the soft earth, and she was still.

Willow could feel the earth answer her call. Deep from its very roots raw magic surged forth into her, but from Beech rose an answering power, alien and unsettling. This was not a duel of parlor tricks and spells, but sheer unadulterated power, and Willow was loosing. She had awaken an army, torn a friend from the clutches of death, and nearly destroyed the world. Any of these feats alone would have numbered her among the greater powers of the world, but the power in Beech was stronger. It attacked sideways, slipping through cracks that Willow never knew were there. Her shields and charms were giving way, inch by inch. No! She would not give up without a fight. Marshalling her strength she prepared for one final massive knockout blow, but Beech struck first. Willow went rigid, as Beech's attack tore through her defenses striking her simultaneously on the astral plane, and collapsed to the ground.

"Willow!" Kennedy called. She charged to her girlfriends side, with Faith not far behind. "She's alive," Kennedy said taking her pulse. Faith sighed in relief.

"We have to get out of here or she won't be much longer." She nodded at Beech, who was striding towards them casually. Kennedy nodded. She didn't think the rest of them could hold out either. "Let's go!" Faith shouted. "Retreat!"

"Help me with her," Kennedy said.

"Right." Faith leaned down and took one of her arms. She and Kennedy half dragged, half carried Willow's prone body away.

Beech watched them go. A few of the Bions started to follow them, but he held out his hand to stop them. "No," he said. "We didn't come here for them. Besides they'll be back eventually. We got what we came for." He knelt down at Vi's side. "And what's your name, little girl?" She mustered all her strength and spit in his face. He smiled. "There, there," he said patting her clammy hand. "Don't worry…Vi. It will all be over in a moment." He smirked. "For you, any way, but for the others it hasn't even begun."

End Part One


	6. Interlude: Rome

Interlude: Rome

Interlude: Rome

Buffy dreamed…

…Of a vast desert. About her level sand stretched out in all directions. There was no wind. Not even the merest hint of breeze dared caress her face. All was quiet. All was still. She was alone in the arid heat. Buffy blinked. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. On the horizon loomed the jagged peeks of a great mountain range. Black clouds hung over all the land, blotting out the sun seemingly threatening rain. Yet the air remained utterly dry, devoid of even the most minute amount of moisture.

A flash of lightning illuminated the dark sky, yet still no rain would come. In the momentary burst of light, Buffy had perceived that she was no longer alone. A few steps up ahead a figure crouched gazing at the distant mountains.

"Is this a dream?" Buffy asked. The figure turned. Buffy recognized her instantly adorned in war paint and rags. Still the figure did not speak. She just stared silently. Slowly, she stirred herself and began to circle Buffy, never turning her back upon the mountains like a wounded predator keeping an eye on its enemy.

"No…dream," the First Slayer said. Her voice was hoarse and rasping, unused to word or speech. "I…am the strength and the speed. I am the hunt of tooth and the claw. Where I bite I hold until death. I live in the blood cry, the penetrating wound, the…"

"Yeah, yeah," Buffy interrupted. "I know all that. If all you've got are old reruns, I'd rather watch Gilligan's Island."

"They…return," the First Slayer said. "Trees die…Desert cold…bones to dust."

"Returned? Who's returned?" Buffy asked.

"No name. No fight. No time. Only power."

"I never run," Buffy said. The First Slayer straightened and met her gaze with a nod.

"Storm coming," the First Slayer said. From the foot of the mountains erupted a massive explosion. The very earth trembled. Buffy barely kept her balance. She watched the mushroom rise almost majestically into the air. Almost immediately the shockwave burst forth in all directs. The force of the wind threatened to tear her apart. Debris and sand flew through the air. Buffy fell to the ground helplessly, her lungs bursting with sand and then the world went white…

…Buffy woke.


	7. Signs & Portents

Chapter Six: Signs & Portents

Chapter Six: Signs & Portents

Colleen glanced up at the windows and frowned. She could feel the ground starting to tremble. It was happening again. The bookshelves were starting to rattle, and the swords hanging on the wall threatened to fall.

"Xan," she shouted. "We got another one!"

"Yeah, I noticed," came the reply. Suddenly the room began to shake in earnest throwing headlong from the couch. Rolling she managed to land in a crouched position. The others apparently were not as lucky. She heard a muffled shout from the other room. Slowly the tremors subsided. Colleen surveyed the room. Several books lay strewn across the floor but no visible damage.

"That's the sixth earthquake in the past two weeks," Xander said as he strolled into the Slayer's Lounge.

"Problem with the fault lines," she suggested brightly.

"On a Hellmouth?" Xander shook his head. "I think not."

Colleen nodded. "Wishful thinking." She shrugged and glanced down pointedly at the nail polish drying on Xander's hand. "It's a good color on you," she said."

"Watch it," Xander warned.

"Brings out your eye." Colleen smirked.

Xander sighed. "Em was bored…and hyper. Scary combination." He shuddered.

"So you let her paint your nails?"

"Hey," Xander said. "Hellmouth plus earthquakes equals bad, remember. Much more interesting then my nails and possibly apocalyptic."

"But not as funny," she retorted as she leaned down to look for the remote.

"That's it! No more chocolate for you," he snapped, but he was grinning. His smile faded when the television blared to life.

"Multiple blazes reported throughout the city," the newsman droned. "Firefighters are on their way. But once again we can confirm eight fires…"

"Damn!" Xander cursed. "Fire and earthquake sounds like harbingers to me."

"Harbinger of what?"

"No idea," Xander said. "I'm donut boy, not book man. You know where Baines is?"

"Out on a patrol. Didn't you say something to him about his field experience?"

"His lack of…yeah I did." Xander sighed. "It's Tuesday isn't it?" The phone rang shrilly interrupting his thoughts. Before either of them could react a little girl bounced into the room.

"This is he Jenkins School for Girls, Emily speaking. How may I help you?" She answered the phone brightly. The line exploded in a mix of incomprehensible shouting and roars. Emily listened intently for a few seconds before turning to Xander. "It's for you," she said and smiling innocently.

Nathaniel Baines collided with the tombstone and collapsed to the ground. He bit back a cry of pain. "Field experience," he muttered to himself. So far that seemed to involve being thrown around like a rag doll by two pairs of Fyarls. Megan and Kathy seemed to be holding their own, but were starting to look a little worse for the wear. Tamara was talking franticly on her cell phone. "Are you alright?" She asked him. He rose unsteadily to his feet. No broken bones. Not yet anyway. He watched as a vicious blow sent Megan sprawling.

"They're Fyarls," he told Tamara. "Stupid brutes with a fondness for destruction and with an infamous weakness for silver."

"Silver? Do we have any silver weapons?"

"Not on me," he said apologetically. "They might have some at the school." But it was too late. One of the demons was dead. Kathy had broken its neck, but that still left three enraged very strong demons against three exhausted Slayers and one, too be terribly honest, fairly useless Watcher. "Perhaps now might be the best time to enact Xander Harris's first rule of survival."

"When in doubt run?"

"Precisely." He could see the war going on in her mind. Reinforcements wouldn't arrive for ten minutes at least, and Megan and Kathy were taking a heavy beating now. Still no Slayer liked to run away. To fight and win, the hunt was mystically hardwired into them.

"You're right," she said reluctantly. "Fall back," she ordered. "Fall back!" The other Slayers stared at her angrily for a moment before the bloodlust subsided and they turned to run. Shoots rang out suddenly across the graveyard. Sharp, rapid unmistakably gunfire. The Fyarls staggered limped forward a few more steps before clattering one by one to the ground. The Watcher and Slayers stared uncomprehendingly.

"Wicked!" Cried an excited voice breaking the stunned silence. A woman emerged from the shadows. Baines estimated she was in her late twenties, possibly early thirties at the oldest. She had a battered old rucksack over her shoulder and a smoking gun in her right hand.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" He asked the first question to come to mind. She smiled ruefully.

"Well I'm Ace," waggling her gun in the air she continued "these are silver bullets, and oh yeah, I just saved your life." She paused. "Well isn't this nice."

"Where'd you get silver bullets?" Megan asked.

"That would be telling." Ace tapped her nose with a smile. "The real question is who were the Fyarls working for."

"And I suppose you know the answer," Banes said frowning.

"I suppose I do." Ace grinned. "So Watcher-man, take me to your leader."

Beneath Cleveland, deep in the bowls of the Hellmouth Semyon waited. Before him the face of his lieutenant formed out of the flames. "Report," he ordered.

"My Bions arrived without incident," the image of Mr. Beech said. "We have secured the crypt and surrounding area. I took one of the Slayers. Initial transference has already begun."

"Indeed," Semyon said coldly.

"It was necessary." Beech answered the unspoken criticism. "The Meddler's servant has been seen consorting with Slayers. Our timetable must be accelerated before he shows himself."

"That is for me to decided. Do not forget who you answer to, Edward Beech." The name had power when Semyon spoke. Threats and magic mingled in his voice. It was a none too subtle reminder. Beech flinched ever so slightly but rallied.

"I answer to Them," he said. "As do we all."

"My business on the Hellmouth is nearly complete Mr. Beech. I will be joining you shortly. I hope for your sake, that you have relearned your manners by then.


	8. Possession

Chapter Seven: Possession 

Vi lay on the floor of the crypt. Her body racked by seizures. Twisting and turning, she writhed in unvoiced agony. A great cry of pain and fear rose up from deep inside her soul, but was lost in the shadows that consumed her and never reached the surface. Deep inside her mind, Vi was fighting a battle unlike any she had ever encountered. Her memories were fading, consumed by shadows and lost in confusion. The power from the crypt was stronger than ever. It was forcing itself upon her, penetrating deeply and painfully into the farthest corners of her mind. Worst of all, it was almost as if the intruders in some way belonged, as if some deep and ancient part of her welcomed the invasion. Disjointed images flittered through her unconscious mind—a dark feral woman adorned in battle-paint fighting shadowy incoherent figures, an explosion erupting at the foot of a mountain, an old man standing imperiously against a gathering storm. The images vanished as quickly as they appeared, and she forgot them as soon as they had passed.

She was alone now. Alone against a multitude of shadows, of dark uncertain shapes. In her mind's eye, she saw herself bereft of memory, of power, even of name. She was no longer a Slayer, no longer Vi. All that remained was a frightened girl cowering in the lone patch of light, while the darkness swarmed around her, whispering to itself. Something primal stirred within her, unlinked to memory or strength. It was the urge to face them and die like a Slayer, even if she could no longer remember that word. She rose slowly to her feet and stood proudly against her foes. The shadows watched her without eyes, and the din of wordless chatter faded. For a moment all was still within her mind, and then the light burnt out, metaphorically speaking.

Beech watched patiently as the Slayer's body stilled at last. The struggle was almost over. There had never been any doubt over the outcome. Slayers had power, but his masters were power. More importantly, their roots were deeply entwined with the Slayer line, in ways Beech could not even begin to understand. The Slayer's body stirred and rose unsteadily to its feet. Beech noticed that the body's motions were clumsy, as if controlled by an inept or unpracticed puppeteer. Those who had possessed Vi were unused to a shell of flesh and blood.

"Transference is complete," Not-Vi said in an overlapping swarm of voices. Beech flinched slightly. Every word bristled with power. This was not what he had expected, but then he wasn't entirely sure what he had expected.

"Congratulations," Beech said bowing as much as his pride permitted. "Allow me to be the first to welcome you." Not-Vi tilted its head inquisitively. Beech could feel the various entities studying him through the Slayer's eyes. "It is an honor," he continued, "to be in your presence. We have waited so long…"

"Where is the Meddler," Not-Vi interrupted. The weight of its many voices speaking in unison forced Beech to step back.

"I don't know," Beech admitted. "But I have secured the crypt. The Slayers and their pet witch were routed…"

"They are of no consequence. If you cannot locate the Meddler, then you are of no use to us. We would speak with Semyon."

"He's busy on the Hellmouth," protested Beech.

"We would speak with Semyon," Not-Vi repeated unequivocally. "There is much work to do."

***

Willow awoke in Giles' office. She glanced around blearily. The old leather couch was actually quite comfortable. A dark haired blur approached, rapidly crystallizing into Kennedy.

"Hey," she said. Kennedy smiled in relief. "We were worried about you. Ethel did a lot of healing spells."

"Ethel was here?" Willow sat up quickly and was immediately hit by a wave of vertigo.

"Easy, easy," Kennedy said. "She left to rejoin the coven. They're off to storm the crypt, but never mind that. How do you feel?"

"Like I just went one on one against the First."

"Did you?" a new voice asked. Another spectacled blob emerged into her vision and materialized into Giles.

"Hi Giles," Willow tried to smile brightly, but only managed a grimace. "No it wasn't the First."

"Are you sure?"  
"Positive. How are the girls?"

"Better now that they're away from the crypt. It appears to have some form of influence over them," said Giles.

"No shit," came Faith's voice. Willow blinked rapidly. Her ears felt stuffed with cotton, and her vision had tunneled. As Willow concentrated her head finally cleared. She could see Kennedy and Giles hovering over her worriedly, and Faith in Giles' chair with her feet up on the desk. The pose might have insulted Willow at one point, but these days she could read the worry beneath Faith's apparent nonchalance. "Yo Red, nice of you to join us."

"You made it out then," Willow said relieved.

"Yeah it wasn't bad all things considered. Aside from you getting your ass kicked it was mostly minor injuries, cuts and bruises and a few broken bones."

"Mostly?" Willow asked sharply. She turned to sit on the couch properly. Faith winced uncomfortably.

"They took Vi," Kennedy said.

"What for?"

"We don't know," Giles said. "Everything we've learned tells us that they, whoever they may be, are targeting Slayers. Presumably Vi is part of their strategy." The telephone interrupted Giles. "Yes," he barked somewhat impatiently. "Listen Xander, we're rather in the middle of…earthquakes you say? And fire and demons massing…Yes that certainly sounds like the signs of an apocalypse. I have every confidence that you are…I'm sorry but did you say Ace?" At that everyone in the office sharpened their gaze. "Yes that sounds like the young woman in question. She's been appearing everywhere in connection to our own problem…No we're not entirely sure if she's friendly…sit tight Xander. I'll send someone on the jet. They should be there in a few hours…I'm not sure yet." Giles hung up.

"Ace is in Cleveland?" Faith asked.

"It would appear so. Xander is facing the beginnings of an apocalypse. The timing cannot be a coincidence."

"Are you saying Ace is one of the bad guys?" Faith demanded.

"It looks that way," Kennedy said. "She wasn't keen to talk last time we met."

"She clearly knows more than she's telling," interrupted Giles, "and she's not the only one. Ace is working for the Doctor." The announcement did not get quite the reaction Giles had hoped for.

"Who?" Willow asked with a frown. She had been away on business for the better part of a month.

"Dr. McCrimmon. He's been researching for weeks now. Most likely a ruse, so he could keep an eye on us. Sir Alistair vouched for him but…"

"You think he fooled Gramps?"

"It's not impossible Faith. Though perhaps he's working for him. I know for a fact that UNIT high command would dearly love to penetrate our operation."

"You don't believe that," Willow said.

"No. Sir Alistair would never try anything of the sort. Nevertheless the Doctor has infiltrated us for almost a month, and now Ace is in Cleveland offering her assistance. They are clearly working to their own agenda."

"Do you think they're working with Beech?" asked Kennedy.

"No," Giles answered hesitatingly. "For now we should assume their enmity is genuine."

"So…they are white hats?" Faith asked.

"Not necessarily. More often than not, our enemy's enemy is our enemy as well."

Faith sighed and jumped to her feet. "I'll go to Cleveland. I still say Ace is a white hat. She's just not very good with the sharing thing."

"Very well," Giles agreed. "Be careful, and don't be too trusting."

"Relax Giles it's me. When am I ever too trusting? Just let me know when the jets ready to go."

"Wait," said Willow as she stood. "I'll send you."

"Are you sure you're up for the Willow Express, Red?"

"I'm sure," Willow said ignoring the worried glances.

"Well alright. Beats flying. Ready whenever you are Red."

Willow concentrated, ignoring the splitting headache. She probably shouldn't be doing this so soon, but she needed to feel useful and her pride was hurt. Beech shouldn't have been able to beat her. Her hair began to flow in a non-existent breeze and Faith began to fade and become translucent. One final gust of power and Faith was gone, sent hurling through the ether towards Cleveland.

"Whoa," said Willow. "Head rush." Kennedy caught her, as her legs collapsed.

"You shouldn't have done that."

"I know," Willow replied as she sank into the couch.

"You should rest," said Giles.

"No." She took a deep breath and turned the full force of her resolve face on Giles. "Tell me about the Doctor," Willow demanded. "Tell me everything."


End file.
